"And I have been reading in the same, dear Roland; and think that I am learning, slowly, the meaning of those precious 'beatitudes'--as I bend at my daily devotions, and read the holy book; as I walk among my poor dependents in the green lanes at Woodcliff, or worship in the school-room of Maple Lane, I feel the murmured benediction, and know now what Jesus means, when he says those precious words, 'blessed' are they who exercise these holy emotions." Roland sat in silence for a few moments, and then continued, "Our little barks are now in quiet waters, dearest--why should they be any longer separated? or rather when shall we occupy the same vessel, and sail together on the same stream?" and Roland took the little hand within his own, and listened for the answer. She smiled archly, as she replied, "Our present life is very happy, Roland; the married people say that these are the happiest days--why then should we wish to bring them to a close so soon?" "Do you really think so, Madeline?" said Roland, as she turned away to hide her blushes, "do you believe any such thing? don't you know that we would both be happier were our destinies united? and then, dearest, remember, that I have no home,--a parlor and two rooms are not home, Madeline. I brought you here this afternoon just to ask, how much longer must I go alone?" "It is a shame to tease you, Roland, but the old feeling of mischief is very tempting--now, I suppose, that you want to bring my liberty to an end; to put aside the lover, with his sweet whispered words, and to begin the husband, with his tones of authority. 'Madam, I wish it so,' and 'Madam, you must not do this,' and 'Madam, you must not do that;' is it not so, Roland?" He understood the little artifice, by which she evaded an answer, and smiled again, as he replied, "You are afraid of no such thing, Madeline; you know your power, and the deep love that fills my heart; do not trifle when I want a serious answer." She laid her little hand quietly within the grasp of the strong, firm man, and said, "Take me, Roland, I am yours for life--through weal and woe, in sickness and in health, until death us do part." The moment of levity had passed. "When shall I call you mine?" "In two months from to-day, Roland; will that suffice, dearest?" "Why should it be two months? I cannot understand what you ladies have to do--what is the use of such an extensive wardrobe? It is just as easily made up afterwards. I could be ready in a day, Madeline." "And you really would deprive me, Roland, of a young bride's pleasure--it is such a joy to prepare a wedding trousseau!" "You don't think so, Madeline, for I know no one who cares so little for the fripperies of dress as you--now what is the reason for delay?"